


Sentenced to Death by the Blues

by ruric



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Community: comment_fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-14
Updated: 2009-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindsey, Darla, Dru and a wine cellar</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentenced to Death by the Blues

Watching her move around the cellar he wants her as much as always.

When they brought her back there’d been nothing left. She’d crawled out of the crate naked and filthy, a feral animal, stinking of terror, blonde hair tangled, eyes wide, dark and wild.

Broken, possibly beyond repair with no comprehension of who she was, what she’d been or who any of them were.

Lindsey had wanted her.

The really fucked up part was he didn’t know whether he’d wanted her for herself, for the fragile beauty that always belied her inner strength, for what she could be or just because it would piss Angel off.

"The Senior Partners do appreciate your sacrifice," Holland’s gaze had dropped to Lindsey’s bandaged arm supported by the sling, his words a poor imitation of sincerity and missing by a few hundred miles. 

"So we’d like to give you this little gift," he’d said glancing over to where Darla crouched on the floor whimpering. "Bring her back, make her human, make her valuable and useful again."

The subtext had been clear enough for Lindsey to hear. We don’t trust you. We haven’t forgiven you. We’re waiting to see whether you take the bait.

He had and swallowed it whole. He’d not done it for them or out of fear - he’d done it for her because she’d needed _someone_ and he was all she had.

Only classical music slow and soft and gentle would calm her. He’d sat with her for hours – talking until his voice cracked and broke. He’d watched her struggle for control and begin to master her senses. The day she’d finally stopped flinching away from sunlight he felt something close to real joy.

But with control came memories, a sadness he could see in her every time he looked at her, and the questions he didn’t want to answer. 

"Why did you bring me back?"

"What am I Lindsey?" 

He’d tried – words his weapon of choice for years - but she could hear the lies even as he could taste them bitter on his tongue. He couldn’t begin to understand her – not the way she could read and understand him. 

She’d tried to warn him if the real Darla ever came back she’d snap him in half. He hadn’t cared too caught up in making her live again he’d not seen the Partners plan. He’d brought her back and when Angel wouldn’t do what was necessary to save her Lindsey did the only thing he could. He found someone who’d give her what she needed. 

The scent of fear surrounds him, he can hear it with each gasped breath and choked off whimper. It’s in Holland’s voice, trying to talk his way out of the consequences of his and the Partner’s schemes.

Darla and Dru are dressed in clothes that reveal every curve of their bodies, but the vamp faces give lie to the idea there’s any softness in them. Their verbal sparring is just a game, the kind predators play before the final kill.

He can smell the blood on her breath when she asks why he’s not afraid. Truth is he doesn’t know. He doesn’t expect mercy, that’s a word no longer in her vocabulary. He doesn’t _want_ to die, but he just can’t seem to care if he does. 

When Angel closes the door Lindsey knows it’s over. His one regret is that he’s going to go out with the taste of some over-priced French red on his tongue and not a shot of good bourbon.

Darla drops Holland with one bite. Lindsey’s gut clenches and he’s half-hard. He can’t look away, not even when he feels Dru’s fingers close on his arm.

"Drop, Dru. Go find something else to play with."

Darla steps over Holland’s body and she’s all feline grace and power. He’s dimly aware of the screams and crashes but Darla’s here and her teeth when she smiles at Lindsey are painted crimson.

"I told you," she says tilting her head, eyes searching his face and he has no idea what she’s looking for - but he recognises death when he sees it.

"You did."

The flush staining her cheeks a delicate pink, the heat he can feel from her body are evidence that she’s fed on more than Holland tonight.

He can no more stop himself from reaching for her, pulling her in, than he can stop breathing. Achingly hard he rolls his hips into her and there’s a smile tugging at his mouth as he tips his chin up, giving her the access she needs.

Her breath is warm, his skin goosing under the brush of her lips and the slightest graze of teeth.

"You always were my own very sweet boy."


End file.
